Daenerys had been deeply uneasy these past few days. Every time she fell asleep, a shadow would creep into her dreams.
The figure seemed human, yet it also possessed dreadful horns, a tail, and wings.
At first, the shadow only watched her from a distance. Later, it stopped merely observing and began to draw closer.
"Stay away from me! I am Daenerys, the last dragon! Khaleesi of the Dothraki—don't touch me with your filthy hands!"
Ever since her brother had died beneath a crown of molten gold, Daenerys had grown up quickly. She understood now that she could not always hide behind others, even if that person was Drogo, her khal and husband.
Her belly was growing larger by the day, and for the sake of the child within her, she had to be strong.
But the shadow always appeared soundlessly in her dreams, disrupting her sleep again and again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
One night, Daenerys dreamed of Drogo.
The two of them sat beside a campfire, eating roasted meat while watching the sunset sink into the endless grass sea. Drogo gently stroked her swollen belly and spoke of how brave their future son would be. Daenerys smiled and answered him in the Dothraki she had only recently begun to master.
For that brief moment, she forgot all the hardships she had suffered and leaned quietly against her husband's broad chest.
Then Daenerys suddenly realized something was wrong.
Drogo's body had grown hotter. His skin had become strangely hard.
She looked up in horror and found that Drogo had already turned into that shadow. It stared down at her with a faceless, expressionless void where its features should have been.
"Ahhh!"
"Khaleesi?! What's wrong?!"
Her handmaids heard the scream and rushed into the tent at once.
But when they entered, only Daenerys was there. She took several heavy breaths before forcing herself to calm down.
"It's nothing," she told them softly. "Just a nightmare. Don't worry."
But after that, the shadow's intrusions only became worse.
Sometimes it appeared in the form of Drogo. Sometimes it disguised itself as one of her guards. Sometimes it simply remained at her side through the entire dream, as if it had always belonged there.
"No! Get away from me, you filthy thing!"
Daenerys tried everything she could think of to drive it away. She drank sleep-inducing teas, invited others to pray blessings over her, and even moved to a different tent.
None of it helped.
If anything, the shadow only grew bolder.
Gradually, it began replacing Drogo in her dreams. It accompanied her, lived beside her, traveled with her. In the end, even the child she gave birth to in the dream turned into that same shadow.
"No! No! This isn't real! What are you?!"
Having no other choice, Daenerys finally told the people around her about the dreams.
But those who had spent their whole lives among the Dothraki knew nothing of such a thing.
Except for one man.
Jorah Mormont.
He was the son of Jeor Mormont, the "Old Bear." Because he had married a woman with extravagant tastes, Jorah had gradually exhausted all his wealth and, in desperation, turned to the slave trade in secret. When his crime was exposed, he fled across the narrow sea with his wife.
There, he worked endlessly to support her lavish lifestyle.
And while he labored for her sake, she betrayed him.
Heartbroken, Jorah wandered in misery until at last he came to Daenerys and Drogo's wedding. Since then, he had become devoted to Daenerys. Yet at the same time, he also served as an informer for the Spider, trading reports on her movements in exchange for the hope of a pardon and a return to Westeros.
Seeing how badly the nightmares were tormenting her, Jorah finally revealed what he knew.
"Khaleesi, I think I know who the figure in your dreams might be."
"Who?" Daenerys asked at once, as if grasping the last straw available to her.
"Roman Rivers, heir of Harrenhal. It is said that Lady Shella found him as a child with a tail covered in black scales, and that later he gradually grew horns and wings."
"Merchants from Westeros say he is a humanoid dragon, skilled in flight and sorcery, and that he is now leading armies against the Iron Throne."
Daenerys had learned much of Westeros from Jorah and trusted him completely. So when he voiced that guess, she immediately fell into deep thought.
She knew little of her family's past, and even less about dragons themselves.
If that thing was truly some kind of dragon, then why was it treating her this way in her dreams? Why did it interfere with her and Drogo?
The others in the tent, however, found Jorah's explanation hard to believe. A winged man? A dragon with a human mind? To them, it sounded like nothing more than sailors' tales.
Just then, Drogo entered the tent.
He glanced once around the room and immediately strode toward Daenerys.
"My moon, what happened to you?"
Drogo picked her up in his arms, carefully examining her from head to toe. Only after confirming that she was unharmed did he let out a small breath of relief.
Daenerys felt the strength in his embrace and smelled the blood clinging to him, knowing at once that he had been fighting again.
But in that moment, all she felt was peace.
Drogo always made her feel safe. This fierce man, so terrifying to others, was the one person who could make her lower her guard completely.
"It's alright, Drogo. I'm fine."
She comforted him first, then told him about the nightmare and Jorah's suspicion.
The moment Drogo heard it, his expression darkened. His bronze chest rose and fell with anger.
"Oh. Men of the Seven Kingdoms. The ones who live in stone houses and wear iron clothes." He turned to Jorah. "Is what you say true?"
"It is true, Khal," Jorah replied. "Any merchant who has come from the black salt sea has heard the tale. There is no mistake."
Drogo's fury deepened, but at the same time he seemed to steady himself.
He turned back to Daenerys and took her hand.
"Do not fear, my moon. I will stay beside you. If you see that man again in your sleep, then hold my hand. I will enter your dream and cut off his head."
Then Drogo laid the plunder from his latest raid across the table—treasures he had taken for Daenerys to choose from.
She spent the rest of the day in peace beside her husband, and for the next several nights, the shadow named Roman did not appear again.
But in the end, the nightmare returned in a different form.
Daenerys dreamed that she was already seated upon the Iron Throne. Roman had stepped out from the darkness and now stood below the throne, looking up at her.
But this Roman was no longer just a shadow.
His entire body was covered in black scales, and his face had become heavily draconic, as though a giant dragon had been forced into the shape of a man.
In the dream, Daenerys heard herself say something to him, but Roman refused her.
Then the little boy beside her cursed Roman in Dothraki and transformed into a dragon, lunging at him.
At the end of the dream, Roman cut off her son's head right in front of her.
Daenerys woke with a scream, her clothes soaked through with cold sweat.
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